


Martin Wins A Game

by AxeMeAboutAxinomancy



Series: Bangkok [1]
Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: First Time, M/M, Word Games
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-22
Updated: 2013-03-22
Packaged: 2017-12-06 01:30:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/730100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AxeMeAboutAxinomancy/pseuds/AxeMeAboutAxinomancy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Douglas sipped his coffee and offered, mildly, "Words that sound naughty but aren't."</p><p>All right, it was juvenile, but they were flying to <em>Bangkok</em>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Martin Wins A Game

It turned out that there was one word game Martin was actually good at.

He was quite dismal at most of them of course, though generally it was the pressure of performance and not actual lack of imagination that sounded the death knell for any hopes of his winning. Martin simply went to pieces the moment any sort of test presented itself.

Consistently.

It might have been, in other circumstances, that Douglas would have found it dull to win all the time. There had in fact been other circumstances like this all the time at Air England. In the end he got caught and sacked because of the _boredom_. It wasn't incompetence at smuggling, not really. It certainly wasn't incompetence at lying, he was terrific at that. But it all became too easy and he would pay less attention and there it would go.

This still happened at MJN sometimes, but on the whole he was on top of things, and on top of Martin in practically all the ways that mattered. But it wasn't dull, because teasing Martin was always on the menu. And for all his hopelessness at games, it was like his becoming a pilot - Martin just didn't give up. He was always willing to play.

Martin could remember lists of things, wasn't bad even at progressive lists like the Customs game, though he was crap at literary references, actually worse than Arthur. Martin certainly could remember the manuals word for word. Not much room left after all that for much in the way of culture or nuance. Martin was a finite, known quantity. Or so Douglas thought.

Until the day they were flying to Bangkok and Douglas sipped his coffee and offered, mildly, "Words that sound naughty but aren't."

All right, it was juvenile, but they were flying to _Bangkok_.

Before Douglas could even offer the first turn as an example, though, Martin jumped in immediately.

"Masticate." He said it so quickly it was as though he were holding a script, ready with his line.

Douglas laughed. "Good one! Scrod."

Martin snickered. "Pianist?"

"Thallus. Hmm, I fear we're getting onto a theme there."

"Right then, er... Uvula."

"A classic," Douglas congratulated him. "Comeuppance."

And thus, tied at 3 all, they giggled for at least a hundred miles.

Carolyn wasn't on this flight, thankfully. She had a way of elbowing into ongoing word games and besides... he rather thought she'd probably slaughter them at this one. Anyway, it was fun to keep this one - just with Martin. When Arthur came along to collect the coffee cups the game paused, without any need for agreement between them about it: 'Arthur' and 'naughty words' were just not a likely mix.

Once he'd gone away again, play resumed at once.

"Rectify," Douglas purred, and at almost the same time Martin said "Frock!"

Douglas couldn't actually remember the last time he had laughed so hard or for so long. And they had barely even got started.

They went through _cunning_ and _thespian_ and _abreast_ and then another theme was noticed.

"Is there anything wrong with them having a theme?"

"Not necessarily. It's just interesting."

 _Rear admiral_ made them cry with laughter, but it was rejected as a phrase not a word. Shame really.

When Arthur came round again they gathered that their merriment, audible through the flight deck door, was making the passengers nervous, so they made an effort to keep it down.

But it only made it funnier.

 _Peacock, manhole, dipthong, kumquat._ What a radio alphabet that would make.

"Seamen," said Martin, and after a pause, "you know, as in sailors - "

Douglas had to clamp his hands over his mouth to contain the ferocity of his glee and after a moment, Martin turned red and then laughed and laughed.

"Sir is inspired," and then realising, "I believe sir is in fact winning. Twelve to ten?"

Martin shrugged. He always trusted Douglas to keep score. "Defenestrate?"

"Oh, good!"

Doing well at something, and being praised for it, suited Martin. He sat smiling a little. That really had been a good one, Douglas wouldn't have thought of it.

Of course, usually when Martin started to do well, he would find a way to ruin it by showing off. But that didn't happen this time.

"Stickler," said Douglas.

"Waylaid," said Martin.

"Holistic."

"Blowfish."

Douglas laughed and shook his head. "You're really good at this one, Martin. Made a study of these?"

"No, I - " Martin started to bristle, then stopped abruptly and laughed a little, "I just imagine words that would embarrass me horribly if I were saying them, that's sort of easy."

"But it's not embarrassing you to say them now."

"No, not at the moment."

"Why not?"

"Well it's you. And it's a game."

It was right at this moment, when Martin said this, laughing and relaxed, glancing toward him, that Douglas realised he was in trouble.

That's what he called it when he fell in love. It always was trouble. And he was in it now, because Martin suddenly resolved into focus here beside him, still utterly foolishly Martin but also - Trouble.

Once he started imagining what someone was like in bed, Douglas found it increasingly difficult to stop. He thought back over the few times they'd talked about Martin's dating prospects and could not help but notice that Martin had spoken wistfully of meeting _people_ and what _they_ would expect of an airline captain. Not _women_ or _she._

Douglas had seen Martin make an idiot of himself in front of several women, but that didn't mean so much. Indeed, maybe he was bi. Which was of course the most sensible thing to be. You kept your options open. Well, that's how Douglas saw it. He hadn't exercised this interesting option in quite a while, though.

The option was becoming more interesting. Positively fascinating.

Douglas was in trouble.

The game's hour expired, and Martin actually won by two. "Yes!" he crowed, and hummed to himself a little.

"Well. I almost feel bad that we didn't bet anything on that one," Douglas gave him a grin. "Naughty captain knowing naughty words."

"They weren't naughty words, they just sounded naughty."

"They did though, don't they? Have you ever been... defenestrated?"

Martin stared at him in complete amazement, then laughed. "Yes! Yes. I actually have been thrown out of a window, since you ask. It was just for a school play though." His lips were quirking. Douglas could not stop looking at his lips suddenly.

Martin was a strange looking sort of chap, taken as a whole. It might be different if only he'd been taller, say about 6 foot, he would probably be rather handsome then, if still in a weird way, but Mother Nature had dropped him off when he hit five foot seven and there it was. He was short, and so you couldn't look at his face from the angle you could if he were tall, and it made a difference. When you looked at him straight on, like now, when they were both sitting, it was easier to see the weirdly beautiful pale eyes and. that. mouth. It wasn't really reasonable, honestly.

"Douglas?"

 _Focus._ Martin looked concerned. Since the bacon incident, the talk of having strokes had caused Martin to stare suspiciously at Douglas whenever he got lost in thought for too long. He'd also worried about Carolyn's having a heart attack, though not, thankfully, in her hearing. Or Arthur's.

"Well, you're one up on me there. I've gone out a few windows, but only ever under my own power."

"Self-defenestration, then? Sounds a bit... cowardly."

"On the contrary, it was auto-heroic."

And order was restored.

"I wish you'd let me in on what's so funny," said Arthur, plaintive and puppyish, as he brought a fresh round of coffees. "All the passengers are wearing either earplugs or headphones now and I'm the only one who can hear you chaps laughing."

"Should we tell him?" Martin looked over at Douglas, eyebrows raised. Douglas shrugged.

"We had a game about perfectly innocent yet naughty sounding words, and our dashing Captain turns out to be something of a specialist in them."

"He means I won," Martin said, looking smug.

Arthur looked excited. Of course. "Ooh, well done Skip, what sorts of words?"

"Oh, you know, things like _rectify_ and _frock_ and _kumquat."_

There was a pause.

"What's naughty about those...?"

Martin laughed so hard that Douglas eventually had no choice but to join in.

***

Later, at the restaurant, Martin drank wine and Douglas drank cranberry juice in a wine glass.

Douglas had generously... _hah_... deviously decided to reward Martin's win with a meal. Arthur had come along - it seemed unwise to leave Arthur running loose by himself in Bangkok - but had wandered off and made friends with a pretty girl behind the bar. She clearly thought him crazy, but her smile was indulgent. Douglas wondered if she understood a word Arthur was saying. Oh, she was probably quite fluent in English, but that didn't necessarily help.

"Can I ask you something?"

Martin was well into his second glass and it showed on his face. He was soft and silly and flushed and he wanted to ask Douglas something. He was leaning closer, so he wanted to ask something secret...?

"Yes...?"

"Why do you pretend you still drink? And not just the, the having similar-looking stuff in a glass to blend in, I mean I've seen you, you slowly pretend to get _drunk._ It's really convincing. I believed it for ages, though - though I did wonder why you smelled so good." Blush. "I mean. Why you didn't smell - You know. Boozy."

After a pause, Douglas said languidly, "Was there a _question_ in there, Martin...?"

"Yes! Yes there was. 'Why.' Why do you do it?"

"Ah. Well." He shrugged, looking down into the juice in his glass. "I've told you already, surely. Don't like to give up my reputation. And - well, it's tedious explaining it, and it's more than I want strangers to know about me. So many assumptions. Besides: it's fun. I watch you drink and I match myself to how I know you're feeling. I'm good at it and it's fun." It worked a treat with women. He chose not to mention this.

"You know how I'm feeling?"

 _I'm starting to get the idea._ "Well, I see how the wine's hitting you and I remember it very well."

"You miss it?"

Douglas tensed. It was exactly the sort of conversation he faked it to avoid having.

"I'm sorry. Don't answer me, I'm sorry. That was inappropriate."

Martin had a little trouble pronouncing 'inappropriate,' but it came out in the end.

"Yes," said Douglas, looking down into the false wine, "I miss it. A lot. That's why I pretend, really."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It's the truth. We're friends."

"Yes," gratefully. "I'm sorry I asked, but I - wondered."

He was probably wondering how Douglas resisted drinking, but Douglas hoped he wouldn't ask. It was the same sort of question as, how did Douglas sit beside Martin day after day without putting his hands on him? It had the same answer. He didn't know _how_ he did it. He resisted because he _had to._

Arthur came back at this point, visibly drunk.

"Arthur," suspiciously, though quite grateful for the distraction, "You haven't had peach schnapps, have you?"

"No no no!" Arthur was happy, glazed over, completely pink. "I told Malee I couldn't have peach schnapps or strawberries and she said she'd take care of me."

"You look well taken care of," laughed Martin.

 _So could you,_ thought Douglas.

They stayed a little longer. Arthur went back to Malee and Martin had another glass - his own idea. He was looking at Douglas through his eyelashes and smiling at Douglas over his wine glass and laughing quietly at almost everything Douglas said. He was _flirting_ with Douglas. Did he _know_ he was flirting with Douglas?

Arthur came back for the arrival of dessert, and Malee came with him, someone else taking her place behind the bar. Her English was excellent, though her accent was confusingly American. She clearly liked the unique cut of Arthur's jib, and just as clearly assumed Martin and Douglas to be a couple.

The hotel was better than usual. Carolyn probably thought she was booking them into something decrepit, but it had apparently fallen or burned down since she was here last and had been rebuilt, smooth and modern and rather shiny.

The rooms were a bit small though. They each had one, and each room barely fit a bed and TV and a closet-like bathroom. Arthur, singing and giddy, disappeared into his room alone. Probably Malee had offered to sleep with him and Arthur hadn't even understood.

"Douglas?" said Martin, hesitating at his door. "Do you want to... I don't know, watch telly or something... I'm not at all sleepy."

Hah, that wasn't even quite true. Martin was a little sleepy. He was a little drunk.

But he was inviting Douglas in. He hadn't looked up while asking, but now he glanced up, and Douglas had been in trouble all day.

"I'll be right there," he said.

***

He knew he mustn't take too long. If Martin fell asleep he'd be kicking himself, but he had to at least brush his teeth and change out of his uniform. And dig into his flight bag for a moment. And pocket the results.

Under two minutes. Back at Martin's door. Do not be asleep. Do not be asleep, Martin.

Martin opened the door. He looked relieved. As though he'd thought for one moment that Douglas wouldn't show up.

He stepped inside; the door closed. Martin had the remote control in his hand and was looking at it as he started to babble, "I ah, I'm not sure how to work this, I can't read any of the buttons and," as Douglas took it from him, "oh, do you know how - ?"

"Even if we managed to turn it on," Douglas said, "we wouldn't understand what they were saying."

He put the remote down on the sliver of a shelf that served as a bedside table. Couldn't help but notice that no matter the language, the ON button was big and brightly coloured and so obvious it could have been discerned by Arthur.

Martin tried to back up a step, but the bed was right behind him, and he sat down on it abruptly. He looked up at Douglas with eyes that begged, as they sometimes did, _Fix this. I don't know how._

So: Douglas leaned down and kissed him.

And for just an instant, it was perfect. That first warm touch of Martin's mouth, his lower lip, sweet -

But - Martin froze and recoiled and stared up at him with wide shocked eyes. Face pale. Pupils small. No slightest trace of invitation.

Douglas was wrong.

Damn. Damn, _damn_. Douglas rarely made mistakes when he was paying attention, but the ones he did make were colossal. They were almost always romantic in nature, of course. And usually took rather longer to become apparent as mistakes. But this was probably the worst. He'd never so grossly misread the situation that he kissed an unwilling person. Not even as a teenager had he ever done that. Until tonight.

He was getting old. Foolish. Deluded. _God._ To find that out now, like this.

Literally in front of Martin.

Douglas straightened up and glanced toward the door he would shortly be going through. _Damn._ His heart was pounding. Mistake. He had made a terrible mistake. _Say it was a mistake. Apologise. Escape._

Martin was never going to look at him that way again. Trusting. _Fix this._ If he'd known he was never going to see it again, he would have savoured it much more just now.

"Sorry, Martin." His voice was quiet. Tired. "I thought... Well. It's my mistake. I should go then."

As Douglas started to turn away and reach for the doorknob, Martin grabbed for his arm. "No!"

"No...?" Teetering at the edge of total gravity. Lifting his eyebrows was a Herculean effort.

"I'm sorry - you didn't, it wasn't, wasn't a mistake, I, I panicked - I couldn't believe it, I didn't know what to do. Please?"

Still trusting, after all. And colour returning to his cheeks. And the pupils of his strange lovely eyes growing bigger as Douglas gazed into them.

"Don't go," said Martin.

So: Douglas sat down beside him. But all the clever things he would have liked to say, to smooth over his fright and make light of his supposed mistake, had flown from his head. He could only _look_ at Martin. In the end he could only try again without another word spoken, leaning in instead of down, and cupping Martin's jaw in his hand. Then Martin was not too surprised.

Martin's mouth was sweet.

Martin had brushed his teeth.

Douglas felt his confidence return in a warm wave that, once receded, turned out to have sprawled them across the bed. Martin was gasping into his mouth.

Yes, that was really much more how he'd been expecting it to go.

The surprising part was that once Martin was really swept up in it, he was wanton and downright greedy and demanding. He was yielding, oh God yes, but didn't he give orders. Touch me, Douglas. Don't stop, Douglas. More, Douglas, more.

"Sir is to be obeyed."

"Oh, don't - don't call me that now. Not now."

"All right." Douglas smiled against Martin's pale silky hide. Later, though. Martin was going to find, next time Douglas said 'sir' in the flight deck, that Douglas' voice was a stealth weapon that could reach right down into his pants.

Martin won the game.

Douglas won Martin.

***

Next morning, Arthur's usual ebullience was much blunted by hangover. Martin actually made the coffee: Douglas was operating back.

Douglas felt splendid. And Martin gave him a little smile when he brought Douglas' cup and sat down. No regrets, then. Not even any awkwardness. It was just that now, when he glanced over at Martin all buttoned up in his ill-fitting uniform, Douglas knew what Martin looked like, really looked like. The real Martin, once released, was like a magical creature, smooth and fine-boned with his bright hair spread around him on the pillow.

Granted, Martin seemed more abundantly supplied with elbows and knees than one person ought to possess. But that was all right. He was going to be eating more from now on. Douglas was quite good at cooking.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Martin Wins A Game](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3172730) by [AxeMeAboutAxinomancy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AxeMeAboutAxinomancy/pseuds/AxeMeAboutAxinomancy)




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